


something that’s stirring deep in me

by crookedspoon



Series: Jason Rare Pair Challenge [3]
Category: Batman: Arkham Knight Genesis (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hate Sex, Inspired by a Comic Book Issue, POV Jason Todd, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Timestamp, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23108797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: He told her to park the car beneath the bridge in an hour. He didn't tell her to wait around.
Relationships: Harleen Quinzel/Jason Todd
Series: Jason Rare Pair Challenge [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1444435
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39
Collections: Batfam Bingo 2019, Jason Rare Pair Challenge





	something that’s stirring deep in me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Hatesex" square on my Batfam Bingo card.
> 
> The story nobody asked nor waited for. Well, except me, perhaps. I've had this idea since Arkham Knight: Genesis #4 came out back in the day (well, the hatesex part, anyway), but I wasn't skilled enough back then to pull it off. Not sure that much has changed, because it came out way different that I'd imagined lol.

He'd expected the van to be abandoned by the time he came to pick it up. That's why he arrives an hour after he told her to park it here. That it's here at all is a point going in her favor. The only point.

She's huddling in the back, kicking up her feet impatiently, when she's not jumping up and pacing in front of the thrown-open doors, loot on display for any asshole who walked by. She's lucky he seems to be the first.

Her head whips around when she hears him approaching.

"You're late," she snaps. "It's freezing cold out here."

"I told you to leave the van here; I didn't tell you to stay." He tactfully doesn't mention that she could have covered up with something more appropriate for the season if it's as cold as she says it is.

"Yeah, you think an abandoned vehicle ain't gonna look mighty suspicious left out in the open like that? You're gonna have vultures swoopin' down on it in no time."

"So you decided to stay against my orders to defend my precious cargo? How selfless of you."

"About that," Quinn says and wrings her hands. "I can't go back to Pengy empty-handed. He's gonna want his money."

"Not my problem."

"Work with me here, asshole. This is my money. I stole it fair and square."

"And now it's mine."

"Even split."

"No deal. Send my regards to Penguin if you must, but he's not getting a dime."

"At least make it look like you took it from me by force," she demands, a petulant twist to her red lips, as if she actually thought she had a say in any of this if she manipulated him deftly enough. Too bad any shred of sympathy had been tortured out of him years ago. She should know: she was there.

"You want me to beat you?"

"Plays right into your power trip, doesn't it? Taking over Gotham City, drumming up every villain from Blackgate to the Asylum, and making them work together so you can have your little song and dance with Batman? You're so big and powerful now, no one can hurt you. You're the one who hurts others."

"I'm only here to hurt Batman."

"Surely you can spare the time to mess up face."

She doubles over with a _whump_ when he punches her in the stomach. "If it gets you to shut up for two seconds."

She sways for a moment, clutching her midriff and gasping for breath.

"Who gave you anatomy lessons?" she spits once she's found her voice again. "That's not my face."

"Suit yourself," he says and grabs her head. "But don't go crying when I ruin your makeup."

With that, he knees her in the face, hearing a satisfying crunch as cartilage breaks. She staggers back, holding her busted nose, blood dripping from between her fingers.

"There, that's better," she says nasally and her mouth splits into a grin. Then she lunges at him.

She may have been able to slap him around when he was young and malnourished, carrying the scars of months of torture at the hands of psychopaths, but he's learned a thing or two since he got out. He's not that frail kid anymore. He can take her with ease now. And he can choose not to engage.

He sidesteps her blows, letting her tire herself out if that's what she needs, until he has enough of the charade. With a well-placed heel of his palm to her solar plexus, he sends her flying into the back of the van. Dollar bills flutter around her as she lands heavily on the bags of money.

"Oof," she groans and wipes her bloody mouth with the back of her hand. "You pack quite a punch now, Junior."

"Don't call me that."

"Well, you're not Robin anymore, so what else am I gonna call you? 'Arkham's knight in shinin' armor'? Hah, fat chance."

"I have a name." He climbs into the van after her and rips off his helmet so she can see the fury in his eyes.

"Someone's touchy," she says before he clamps his hand around her throat.

"It's the _only_ thing he didn't take from me," Jason seethes. "So you're not gonna lie there and pretend that he did, just because he managed to pervert _your_ name, too."

He bears down harder, with both hands now, because he doesn't want to hear the mockery in her voice. She had nothing but derision and punishment for him when he was trapped, but now _she's_ trapped and he's the one calling the shots.

He's dreamed of moments like this -- of doing to her what was done to him, then slowly choking the life out of her -- in many different ways.

So it's no surprise when she doesn't struggle, when all she does is grin up at him with teeth as red as the color of her lips, because it's just like one of the many different ways he's imagined it. He has no idea what sick games Joker subjected her to -- what sick games she _got off_ on -- and frankly, he has no intention of caring. She chose this life; Jason was given no choice.

After a minute or so, she does begin to struggle. Or to react at least. She writhes this way and that, as if trying to slip out from under him -- or finding a position that's more comfortable for her. She rubs her legs against his, runs her palms up to his elbows, hooks her ankles behind his hips. And she grinds her whole body against him, as if in the throes of passion, or maybe death, _le petit mort,_ and if she died here it wouldn't even be too much of a loss. He'd find another tie to Penguin.

"Is that how you usually get out of these situations?" he sneers, but eases his grip. "By fucking your way out of them?"

"Ask your daddy," she smiles, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

He snorts. "Which one?"

"Hah, I see you've grown a sense of humor, Junior."

"I told you not to call me that." 

His backhand is quicker than his resolve to be better than this. Why pretend with her? Why pretend at all? He is _not_ better than this. And she's the one who made him this way. Or the one who laid the groundwork, anyway. Might as well give her a taste of what he's become.

Her head lolls to the side as if attached to nothing more than a string, and for a moment he thinks he might have snapped her neck. It would have been mercy.

But just like him, she's too damn stubborn to quit. 

"Sweetie, you didn't give me an alternative."

"You want an alternative?" he asks and slaps her again, but she's like a rubber doll. It doesn't affect her at all. "I have a name. Say it."

"Make me."

Jason arches an eyebrow, but one look at her bloody grin and he figures, why bother playing around? He answers her in kind, grin for grin. Because yeah, he's been dreaming of this, too.

"You asked for it."

He rips her leggings over her ass and takes out his cock, which is already hard, already twitching, already anticipating the tight clutch of her body, as if his cock had foreseen where all of this was headed better than he did.

"I'm gonna make you fucking scream my name."

"Sure hope you are."

Securing her right leg against his shoulder, so she won't try anything funny, he thrusts in without warning and without ceremony. She's so wet that he slides right in, but the force of it pushes a grunt out of her.

"Not much a gentleman, are you?" she asks, more as an observation than a reproach.

"You want gentle? Wrong fucking address."

As if to demonstrate, he drives his cock into her harder, surprised at just how tightly her inner walls are gripping him. He'd have expected her to be worn out, bouncing on Ozzie's meat-stick every night, but apparently that's not how she stays in his good graces.

"Not many role models growing up."

He doesn't know why he said that last bit, doesn't know why it came out so fucking pathetic, instead of with the bite of sarcasm as he had intended. As if his brain were addled and slowly turning into pulp. Why did he ever think fucking Joker's ex was a good idea? She must be just as full of toxins as he was.

"Aww, was the poor wittle Wobin never shown any love?"

Jason stops plowing her. "You were there. You saw what they did."

"They did a great many things. Gotta be more specific."

"They _raped_ me," Jason growls. "While you just stood there and watched."

Fuck, but his voice is cracking. Too much raw emotion slamming to the forefront all at once. He thought he had it under control. He'd worked so hard to scrape himself back together. He's not going to fucking lose it here, in front of this fucking bitch who put dynamite into the faultlines of his soul and laughed as it fucking detonated.

He'd expected her to be laughing now, too, a shrill cackle that would have grated on him like nails on a chalkboard, but her humor is dark and compressed. In fact, she's as sober as he's ever seen her as she sits up to glare at him.

His cock slips out of her as she does so, and fuck, maybe it is as cold as she said.

"You think they haven't done the same to me? You think you're the only one they hurt? That it makes you so special because you were their little plaything for a while?"

She pulls off one of her boots and throws it at his head. He deflects it at the last second, just a little dumbfounded by this act. 

"Who do you think had to entertain the guards so that the boys could have their fun with you?" She strips her leggings over her knee, baring a cluster of roses with thorns tattooed on her thigh. "Do you think _they_ were any gentler?"

She slams his back against the side of the van and straddles his lap. Her eyes are filled with cold fury as she grips his cock and guides it back to her searing cunt.

"They beat me, too, you know," she says and sinks back down on his cock. Jason groans with every inch she takes. "To them, I was just another animal in a cage. Worse, I was puddin's squeeze but no longer under his protection. Because once he threw me at their feet, they had his endorsement to do with me as they saw fit. So they took their anger and their perversions out on me, knowin' it wouldn't fall back on them. They made sure to punish me for every single one of their comrades who'd died by Joker's hand."

Her fingers hook into the armor at his neck and pulses of heat flood through him as she rocks her hips on his cock.

"It made them hard to see me bleed. Just like it's making you hard." She sinks down all the way with a long exhale. "Havin' fun imagining a ring of guards around me, kickin' and beatin' on me? Or are you imaginin' them waitin' for their turn to stick their dicks into me?"

She grabs his head and wedges it against her shoulder. Her hot tongue flicks across along the shell of his ear.

"Truth is, they never waited," she says, pulling his earlobe between her teeth. "Each wanted to be the first and none really cared which hole they got to fuck first."

She lets out a sharp cry, grinding her hips into his lap. 

"That really does make you hard. I can feel you pulsin' inside me."

"Maybe I just enjoy the way you ride my cock," he says and twists one of her nipples through the cup of her dress.

It makes her squeak like a mouse and clench around him so hard he's seeing stars. He has to do that again.

With her head thrown back and her chest thrust up, he has ample access to her pretty tits. He rips down the fabric covering them and sucks a nipple between his teeth. The sound Harley makes in response is unreal and so is the way she squirms on his cock.

A drawn-out groan sits in the back of Jason's throat as he slides his hands down to cup her ass. With his teeth still clamped around her nipple, he guides her hips along his cock as he plunges it into her slick cunt over and over.

"That's it. Fuck me," she demands, her voice rising to a fever pitch. "Fuck me till it hurts."

"You want it to hurt?" he huffs. "Why didn't you say so before?"

He's loath to let her go now that he's so close, but he has something to prove, namely that he doesn't need her to get off, so naturally he lifts her off by her thighs and throws her face-first onto the sacks of money.

He positions himself behind her, pulling her hips flush with his again and giving them a good smack. The short, puffy skirt of her dress folds over her back, exposing her pale ass to view, and that's when he sees it: the letter 'J' branded on her right ass cheek. He growls as he rubs the pad of his glove over the raised skin. He rubs the pad of his glove over the raised skin and feels a growl scratching in his throat.

"Yeah, I got a souvenir, too," she says and smiles over her shoulder. "Like it? Puddin' used to love lookin' at it when he made love to me. Just like this."

She wiggles her ass at him. 

_Made love._ What a preposterous notion. As if the clown has ever loved anyone but himself. He probably just loved the mark of ownership on someone else, just as he had loved it on Jason. He'd rubbed his filthy gloved finger over the raw wound just as Jason is doing now, grinning down at him with his rotten teeth as he reamed Jason's ass.

Jason is never going to characterise what has been done to him as anything other than rape, but if she wants to romanticize her own experience, who is he to stop her? Not a fucking therapist, that's who.

"That is, until you came along," she continues. "You took up all of puddin's time. All of his attention. All of his affection."

Jason snorts. _Affection,_ yeah right.

"And what did I get? When he was in a sharin' mood, he might let me lick your blood off his cock." She spits a gob of her own blood onto the sacks below her. "I used to hate you so much for taking him away from me. All he cared about was you. Breakin' you. Moldin' you. Makin' you into his new sidekick. You, you, you. It was always Jason this, Jason that. Never a word about me. Not even a thank you for enablin' him to play with you. No, he took that for granted."

Jason doesn't want to hear it. What a fucking turn-off. He was so close, and now... If triggering him is what she's after, he's not going to give her the satisfaction of a breakdown. He slaps her ass instead, giving it a nice red color.

"Are you done?"

"Are _you?"_

"Just getting started."

Harley throws her head back with a cry so loud it reverberates off the walls of the van as Jason shoves his dripping cock into her narrow ass.

"Fuck yeah, that's it," she says as she rocks back against him. Figures that she'd get off on this.

Out of curiosity, he reaches out and twists her pigtails around his fist. Just as he thought: Harley gasps at first, then moans when he gives her an experimental tug. Even the tight grip of her hole relaxes the more he pulls. _What a freak,_ he might think, but she's in good company. He's come to love a good dose of pain as well.

He yanks her back by her hair until she's arched against his chest, the sight of her bare tits teasing him again. He wants to take them in his mouth, but she's too small and the angle's all wrong. So he contends himself with squeezing one of her tits on his palm and pinching the nipple, rolling it between his fingers. He hips stutter around him so deliciously.

"You said you used to hate me," he says, keeping his tone and his rhythm casual but his grin dirty. "Does that mean you've changed your mind?"

"That depends on whether you can make me come or not."

"You better hurry up then, because I'm close."

"Don't you dare finish without me!"

"Or what? You're gonna hate me? I'm scared."

Jason releases her hair and pushes her onto the sacks, maneuvering her onto her back and taking position between her legs again. Sinking back into her when he's almost there feels like coming home -- not that he's ever had a home worth returning to. But this is enough to evoke a feeling of familiarity in him and some part of him is still greedy for anything that feels like what he thinks normal should feel like.

He's a mess. He buries his face in Harley's tits and takes them into his mouth as he fucks her. She whines and writhes and twists her fingers into his hair and he's so close.

"Yes, yes, yes," Harley cries and rubs her clit as she hooks her ankles over his thighs.

"Yes, _what?"_ Jason asks, clutching her wrist and letting her nipple fall from his between his teeth.

When he stills his hips, too, she gasps at the loss of momentum and seems disoriented for two seconds.

"Yes, _what?"_ he asks again.

"Yes, please?"

"Wrong answer."

"Yes, sir?"

"Warmer."

"My God, Jason, you asshole. I'm gonna castrate you if you don't _move._ And let go of my hand. I'm almost there, you can't leave me hanging now."

"Good enough." He grins and thrusts into her again, slowly gaining back their momentum. 

The way she's tugging at his hair, it takes no time at all for him to come and fill up her ass. He lends her a hand until she gets off, too, no longer having the energy or clarity of mind to be mean and deny her this. For a few moments, they stay like this, clutching each other and panting into the silence of the open van. The euphoric haze blanketing his awareness vanishes too soon. He pulls out of Harley and buckles himself up as long as some of it remains.

She's not as quick about it, just lounging on the stolen money and looking at him. Whatever she's seeing, it can't be half as frightening as the sight she makes, with her blood drying beneath her broken nose and her purple shiners peeking through her ruined makeup.

She's truly a clown fit for nightmares.

He could make it easy on himself and just throw her out, bare-assed and all, but contrary to what she may believe, he's still enough of a gentleman not to do that. Or maybe that's just common decency. Not that she would know what that is if it bit her.

"Come on, time to go. You look terrible enough for Penguin."

"Okay," she says and pulls up her leggings. She's unsteady on her feet, so he lends her a shoulder for balance as she puts on the boot she threw at his face earlier. He doesn't have to, but he figures she'll be gone sooner if she doesn't fall on her face every two seconds.

Once her dress is mostly straightened and she's ready to go, he lifts her out of the van as if she were a child. She looks up at him curiously, frowning, lips pursed maybe, but it's hard to tell with all that dried and flaking blood.

"You're expensive," she says and flicks her thumb toward the inside of the van. "If you wanna do this again, I hope you'll gimme a discount. And maybe a heads-up."

Jason barks a laugh, but it's not unamused. "There'll be no repeat performance."

"Sure you won't need more money?"

"I can find someone else who won't come with string attached."

"No strings, just fun."

"Ghosts, then."

"Ghosts, yeah." She nods and turns to go. "Well, I'll see you around. There's still a Bat to kill."

When he doesn't add anything more, she skips off, back to whatever scheme she's been hatching before Jason came along.

With a long exhale he sits down onto the floor of the van. He thought he could do this. Thought he could face his tormentors and use them to carry out his plan. He could always kill them later and bury them along with the memories they triggered.

So far, he'd been able to keep himself together, wearing the mask of the Arkham Knight. Harley is the first to have figured out who he is. That's a dangerous variable. He can't trust her. 

Perhaps he should have killed her instead of letting her go back to Cobblepot, where she can blab about her discovery. It's as he said; he could always find another one to rob a bank for him, although having her at his disposal is more convenient. He knows she gets results.

Something's changed. He knows that it did. (He hates that it did.) Is he really such a bleeding heart to believe her fucking sob story? To believe that they share a similar experience and that it somehow makes them kindred? What fucking bullshit.

He saw her just now. She's still not over the Joker. She still believes he was hot shit.

 _Isn't that how you think of Bruce?_ a tiny voice niggles at him.

 _No. Never._ He shuts that voice down.

Bruce has to die. Bruce needs to see what he has done to Jason, and then he has to die. It's the only way. It's the only thing that still makes sense. 

If that's done, maybe then Jason can move on.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Body Politics" by IAMX.


End file.
